Distorted Image
by ForeverMATT
Summary: The horror stories circulated, but Mello was never one to believe in ghosts... That is, until he encounters an elusive redheaded boy.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Distorted Image

**Summary:** The horror stories circulated, but Mello was never one to believe in ghosts... That is, until he encounters an elusive redheaded boy.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN, and this idea is hardly original.

**Author's Note:** Happy Halloween.

…

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"_Some say that -on Halloween night- you can see his ghost roaming the halls."_

"_Cloaked like a convict. Hair as red as blood. Eyes as green as the ivy growing over his tombstone. Fingers long and forever twitching, always itching to latch onto something tangible, though he knows it is futile because death has overtaken him."_

"_Some say he attends classes, always sitting in the back. He watches and waits to be noticed, but the teacher never calls on him."_

"_I hear, that if -"_

"I've heard enough of these lame brain stories," a blonde boy said, voice elevated in a show of agitation. "There is no such things as ghosts or spirits or any of that mumbo jumbo garbage. I'm tired of these stupid horror stories that you all repeat year after year- Nothing changes. There is no ghost. And I'm tired of hearing about how 'Matty DeadBoy' can be seen on Halloween night. About how he's a reclusive spirit looking for the right person to reveal himself to. And about whatever the fuck you guys rant about. I'm tired of hearing it, and the next person who says a word about this stupid story is going to get an ass-kicking!" After his rant, the blonde skeptic hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and shoved his way past his peers, heading to his locker and murmuring his discontent.

Once he arrived at locker 201, he dropped his bag at his feet and started on his combination lock, turning the dial as he had done flawlessly for the past couple months that school had been in session. But to his surprise and dismay, the lock didn't open on his first try. Nor his second. Or even his third. He huffed in annoyance, vaguely noting that his fellow schoolmates were shutting their lockers and sauntering off to class, having already collected their books.

Silently cursing, he set the dial back to zero, took a deep breath, and proceeded slower, being sure to hit every number with precision and care.

At last, the internal gears lined up and the lock popped open. He quickly tore it from the sert and opened his locker. He shoved his backpack into his locker and retrieved his books before slamming the door shut, not bothering to lock it again.

Juggling his books and stumbling through the emptied hall, he caught a glimpse of something- rather, some_one. "_Late for class?" the blonde mused aloud. "Me too. Locker troubles," he added needlessly, eyes settled on a pale redhead. "You new?" he asked conversationally, continuing to walk and noting that he and the redhead seemed to be heading to the same class. "I'm Mello," he introduced, reaching the end of the hall and opening the classroom door to allow himself and the redhead in.

The redhead silently nodded in a gesture of thanks before scurrying in and sitting in the back row. Mello followed, taking a seat next to him and offering a wry smile when the teacher paused a lecture in favor of giving a disapproving glare.

"Well, Mihael, why are you late this time?" the teacher asked, glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose.

To this, Mello shrugged and situated his books. "Had trouble with my locker. Then I ran into a new student, and-" he turned in his seat to point to the redhead, but the teacher simply went back to her lecture about -whatever she was talking about.

Mello was mildly bothered by the redhead not getting formally introduced to the class, but that was partially because his own tardiness was called upon, and he didn't care for being the center of attention (contrary to popular belief).

As class droned on, Mello noticed that the redhead fidgeted, bored and uncaring of what was being taught.

"Hey, what class do you have next?" Mello whispered, leaning over so that the redhead could hear him. He didn't expect an answer, but he smiled brightly when he received one anyways.

"History, I think," the redhead whispered back.

"What's your name?" Mello asked, glad for the distraction.

"M-"

Just then, the bell rang. In a haste, students' chairs began to scrape, books slammed, the teacher rattled off last minute details about an upcoming project, and everyone was filing out of the room.

The blonde teen was in no particular hurry, taking his time in gathering his things, then turning to address his redheaded companion once more, only to find that he was no longer there.

'Must've left already,' Mello thought to himself, deciding that he'd see the redhead around sometime later. Before exiting the classroom, he stopped at the teacher's desk and offered a smile. "I'm sorry for being late, ma'am, really. But I got stopped in the hall by the new kid, and-" his explanation was halted by an exaggerated sigh.

"Ugh, Mihael, please don't do this today."

"But, Mrs.-"

"Mihael, just stop. There are no new students, and there hasn't been since-"

"But I met him today! He's about this tall-" Mello held up his hand to indicate height. "And he has red hair, and- He was in class; he sat next to me and everything!"

"Mihael-Mello-WhateverYourNameIs, please just get to your next class." With that, the teacher waved a hand in dismissal, and a very confused Mello bowed his head and trudged out of the room.

He had PE and supposed a bit of exercise would do him good.

However, before reaching his destination, he made a detour to the lavatory. It was quiet when he entered; his footsteps echoed. He caught his reflection in the mirror above the sink before heading over. Closing his eyes, he blindly reached for the taps, turning on the water and rinsing his hands off before cupping them full of water and splashing his face. "Everything is okay," he said to himself, taking a deep breath and trying to adjust to an unwarranted anxiety that began to sweep over him. A chill crept up his spine and he shivered.

Then a familiar voice reached his ears. "You're going to be late for your next class, y'know."

The voice caused Mello's eyes to snap open in alarm, and he frantically looked around, searching for the source of the voice but finding himself to be alone. "H-Hello?" he called cautiously, his voice echoing off the hollow expansions of the tiled room. "Hey, anyone in here?"

When he received no answer, he tried to calm down but the anxiety stayed with him.

And just when he decided to go on and head to PE, he caught his reflection once more, and he froze. Because, in the mirror, standing next to his reflection was an achingly familiar redheaded boy.

"You're late," the boy said, smiling innocently.

Mello could feel the blood draining from his body -his face whitening uncharacteristically- as he tried and failed to recover from the waves of fear and nausea that were upon him. He clenched his hands into fists and slowly turned away from the mirror, confirming his sneaking suspicion that he was in fact physically alone.

But he knew what he saw and heard.

He had to get out of there.

But he had to know something first. "Is- Is your name Matt?" Mello asked, voice sounding more confident than he felt.

In response, the mirror fogged and letters appeared one by one.

_'They Called Me Mail.'_

…

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**/Not much comp time, but I wanted to do something for Halloween. I'd like to do more for this fic because I like the idea of Mello and GhostMATT. Plus, almost nothing happened in this chapter, so it just makes sense to do more. -Review./**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Distorted Image

**Summary:** The horror stories circulated, but Mello was never one to believe in ghosts... That is, until he encounters an elusive redheaded boy.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN, and this idea is hardly original.

**Author's Note:** Don't have much comp time. Chapter is short, but at least it's an update.

…

* * *

Skipping PE and heading to the library instead, Mello's head was swimming with impossibilities. He took a seat in front of a computer in the back corner and quickly brought up his preferred proxy before beginning a search on the name Mail. All the while, he could hear the chattering of his peers.

"_Think Matty DeadBoy is gonna show up?"_

"_I dunno. I'm dressing as him for Trick or Treat!"_

_"I saw him last year out by the cemetery!"_

_"You're joking, right?"_

"_Hey, how does the story go? How did he die?"_

"_Wasn't it murder?"_

"_...I dunno. I don't think I've ever heard how he died."_

"_Bummer."_

"_I know! Matty DeadBoy is the most famous ghost story around town... because it's true!"_

"_Liar!"_

The teens all laughed and joked amongst themselves, and Mello's frustration grew. "Will you fuckers just _shut up_ already?!" he yelled, unable to tolerate the escalated noise level. "Some of us are doing shit that actually matters. So, if you want to socialize, LEAVE!"

As his chide concluded, his peers grumbled and walked off, some calling him names and others snickering at how easily he could be annoyed.

After a more peaceful twenty minutes of searching for Mail and Matty and everything in between, he could find little more than questionable folk tales and campfire stories, all vague and varying in details (or lack there of).

Sighing in defeat, he opted to ask the librarian. "Mr Lawliet?" he called, approaching a dark haired man who sat hunched over a book.

The man ducked further behind the book, as if hiding. "Please call me L," came an apathetic voice.

"Mr L-"

"Just _L_, will be fine."

"L, I'm trying to learn a bit more about the Matty DeadBoy stories."

"Oh, Mihael, I'm sure you've heard it all before. -_C____loaked like a convict. Hair as red as blood. Eyes as green as the ivy growing over his tombstone. Fingers long and forever twitching-__"_

"L! I know all that! I want to know the true parts of the story!"

"Mihael, there are no true parts. That is why it is a story and not a piece of history."

"But L! This is important!" Mello huffed and puffed, cheeks reddening. He just couldn't quite get his point across. "L, just... -Fine! I want to know where the story originates. It's for... a project I have to do in class." -It wasn't entirely a lie, he internally rationalized.

The librarian sighed, dropped his book and stood up, back still slightly hunched as he motioned the blonde to follow.

Wordlessly, Mello followed L to a rather dusty aisle of bookshelves and the two began to visually sift through the selection. Mello browsed blindly out of curiosity whereas L seemed to know exactly what he was looking for.

The raven-haired man easily found and grabbed a thick book with a leather-bound cover. He ran his long spidery fingers over the book, clearing away the accumulated dust and grime before shoving it into the blonde teen's hands. "This," L said simply, "should contain everything you need to know."

Mello looked at the book and quirked a brow.

_Special Collector's Edition  
Lores, Gore, and Horror of the 19th Century  
Featuring Tales of Matty DeadBoy  
Written and Illustrated by Sr Jeevas._

"Well, Mihael, everything you could ever want to know about Matty DeadBoy is in there. Also, on page 39, I believe there is a delightful little poem about how he died."

Mello and L headed back to the front desk where L stamped the book and told Mello to return or renew it within a week.

Afterwards with the book in hand, Mello made a beeline for the office, intending to feign sickness, call home, and get out of school early. -He'd had enough Halloween shenanigans this year.

...Or so he thought.

-After having already made the call, he found himself back at locker 201. The lock was still removed from his earlier endeavors, so it was no surprise that the rusted old locker door was slightly ajar. He tossed his books in carelessly and withdrew his backpack, slamming the door shut and kicking it for good measure to ensure that it wouldn't come open without prompt.

He turned away, decidedly ready to leave when footsteps caught his attention. -This would not be so strange had he not been the only one in the suddenly elongated hallway.

His pulse quickened, body temperature rising in synch with his distress. He looked left and right. The walls on either side of him seemed so much closer, rapidly closing in and making the hall seem so much longer, stretching for miles.

The lights flickered, the footsteps grew louder.

Mello could feel his heartbeat in his head, drumming in his ears.

Everything became so loud and dark and unbearable; he dropped his backpack and clutched at his head, kneeling down and curling in on himself, needing some sense of security that seemed so far out of reach.

Tears prickled at his eyes and his breath came in labored gasps.

Then, suddenly, everything stopped.

When all he could hear was his own breathing, he slowly uncurled and opened his eyes, only to see a set of haunted emeralds staring back at him. The bearer of those emeralds smiled warmly, lips parted to reveal two rows of perfect teeth.

Wary, Mello erected his posture and reclaimed his backpack. "Mail," he greeted tersely, unsure of what else to do as he faced the deceased redhead.

Mail simply doubled over in a fit of mirth, but no laughing sounds accompanied this act.

"So, you're real," Mello concluded, needing to vocalize the fact to assure some form of sanity. "You're really real. You're Matty DeadBoy, aren't you?"

Mail said nothing, simply clasping his hands behind his back and grinning childishly.

"Please say something. Let me know I'm not crazy," Mello pleaded, tightening his grip on the strap of his bag.

Just then, a strange expression crossed the redhead's face- an expression of absolute terror. His eyes widened and his mouth opened to the fullest extent, and he wailed. The scream was loud and Mello could almost swear he felt the earth move beneath his feet. And with that, Mail vanished, his spiritual essence torn to shreds by an unseen force.

Mello stood alone in the hall, holding his backpack and wondering what to do. Nobody seemed to have heard or seen Mail, but he was so certain of what had transpired. So, taking a deep breath and slinging his bag over his shoulder, he finally began his journey down the hall, reaching the end and turning around the corner, visiting the office long enough to sign out, and then exiting the school.

He waited out front until his mother's car pulled up.

He got in and neglected his seat belt.

His mother flashed him a worried look. "Mihael, dear, do you have tummy troubles? If you have diarrhea-"

"Mom! I don't have... _that_. I have a headache." Mello's cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment.

"Should I take you to a doctor? You look like you've seen a ghost. You're so pale."

For a moment, Mello considered his mother's words before shaking his head. "No. I'll be fine. I just need to go home and lay down. Maybe I can get a jump start on my school project."

"Awe, Mihael, even when you're sick, you're still so focused on your grades."

"Uh, yeah. That's exactly it, mom."

The ride home was considerably quiet after that. Mello's mom turned on the radio and sang along to Gospel music while he decided to take out his library book and check out page 39.

…

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**/End ch2, and yes, L is a school librarian. Chapter 3 will ONLY consist of a short poem by yours truly. But Ch4 should be a decent length (I think). Feedback is appreciated. Questions? Comments? Etc./**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Distorted Image

**Summary:** The horror stories circulated, but Mello was never one to believe in ghosts... That is, until he encounters an elusive redheaded boy.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN, and this idea is hardly original.

**Author's Note:** As promised- this is the poem that L mentioned on Page 39.

…

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**Page _39_**

Special Collector's Edition  
Lores, Gore, and Horror of the 19th Century  
Featuring Tales of Matty DeadBoy

_DeadBoy's father took a whack_  
_Left the boy blue and black_  
_With the rope, tied him tight_  
_Took away his will to fight_  
_Grabbed some scissors, cut his hair_  
_Cut his clothes, made him bare_  
_Dipped metal points beneath the skin_  
_Dipped it deeper, shoved it in_  
_DeadBoy screamed and cursed and howled_  
_As blood poured, he solemnly vowed_  
_"I'll be back, I'll shame your name"_  
_"I'll be back to finish the game"_  
_With this final testament_  
_DeadBoy's final moments spent_  
_He bled out on the floor_  
_His father tried to hide the gore_  
_Hid the body in a box_  
_Buried beneath some dirt and rocks_  
_Just as -in death- the child swore_  
_His spirit roams 'til furthermore._

_..._

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**/Not much, but there's the poem about Matty DeadBoy. -There's a link on my profile to fan art for this. Feel free to indulge constructively./**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Distorted Image

**Summary:** The horror stories circulated, but Mello was never one to believe in ghosts... That is, until he encounters an elusive redheaded boy.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN, and this idea is hardly original.

**Author's Note:** Here we go. Slight plot development. Read on.

…

* * *

Getting home and hurrying to his room, Mello leapt onto his bed and began to sift through the Table of Contents in his library book. He had absolutely no idea - no way of knowing what would and wouldn't be true of his findings, but something deep in the pit of his stomach urged him to look.

He first skimmed a suspicious 'About the Author' segment but found little more than the fact that the author -_Sr Jeevas_- lacked compassion for what he wrote.

_These stories -they're just stories. Campfire stories for children. I myself will never pick up a copy, but I can't stop everyone else from informing themselves about the horror that was Matty DeadBoy. -Because, even the most absurd stories have a valid point of origin._

Mello sighed and continued to sift, wanting to get to the bottom of the mystery at hand. He felt like a member of the Scooby gang, though he'd never voice this aloud, too prideful of the adult part of his conceptual image.

Skimming, some words and phrases caught his attention whereas others were filed away and labeled 'unimportant.'

_His internal content spilled, lubricating the hastily tied knots of the rope that bound him. Raw and aching hands slipped free, a forefinger and thumb pinching a piece of intestine and futilely trying to put it back where it used to be...  
The boy knew he was dying.  
With his own blood, he etched a pentagram onto the hardwood floor.  
He couldn't die and just leave his mother at the mercy of this predator.  
He had to come back and make things right. He had to keep his mother safe.  
He had to expose his father for the monster that he was..._

"Is that it?" Mello voiced to no one in particular. "Is that what Mail wants? To reveal his murderer?" The more the blonde teen thought about it, the more preposterous it seemed. "But... it's written right here. There's all kinds of stories about it- hell, there's a whole book(_!_)- unless..." The gears in his head kept spinning, thoughts turning and processing. "Unless it wasn't really his father who killed him! This could all just be a cover! -I've gotta find Mail!"

Mello couldn't be sure if Mail was a spirit or a ghost or whatever other sort of entity, but he was definitely real. Likewise, Mello hadn't a clue as to why he felt obligated to help, but something in his gut told to him that it was the right thing to do... after all, Matty DeadBoy doesn't reveal himself to just anybody. There had to be a reason he showed himself to the blonde.

Leaving the book open on the bed, Mello got up and decided to go back to school in hopes of making contact with the redhead. He grabbed his backpack and slipped on his shoes before hurrying out of his room to find his mom and ask if she could give him a ride. "I'm feeling better, mom!" He yelled, being in quite an obvious hurry.

-Too bad for that hurry he was in; for, had he been patient and waited just a moment longer, he might have seen the spanning of pages from a certain book that he'd neglected to take.

The book itself had risen several inches from the bed where it remained suspended; pages spanned and loose ones ripped from the spine, fluttering around as if caught by a phantom wind.

A cyclone of horrific literature.

After several seconds of mayhem and nearly a dozen papers being torn and scattered, the book fell back to its appropriate place, landing open to page 83.

_A body was never found.  
No grave was ever marked.  
Authorities and all public records confirm that there was blood at the scene of the crime, but it was displayed in a most unconventional manner.  
Not a single drop could be found on the floor (save for a sloppily rendered pentagram). Rather, there were blood spatters and skid marks all across the ceiling. Ripe red hand prints marred the upper expansion of the walls and door.  
Everything else- the floors, the lower parts of the wall, the hallway outside the room, etc- was immaculate and clean. Spotless.  
No explanation was ever found, though a popularized theory is that the spirit of Matty DeadBoy rose within his own deceased body, refusing to leave his physical form even as the afterlife pulled him into torturous exile._

…

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**/Next Chapter has been started. It should be up soon. -Feedback is loved./**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Distorted Image

**Summary:** The horror stories circulated, but Mello was never one to believe in ghosts... That is, until he encounters an elusive redheaded boy.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN, and this idea is hardly original.

**Author's Note:** Yep, another update. A good portion of this is dialogue, but bear with it. Please and thank you.

…

* * *

Courtesy of his mom and a few well-timed comments and facial expressions, Mello managed to get a ride back to school, where he mentally noted his growing To-Do list and his lack of time to get everything done.

First up was a trip to the office to sign back in and obtain the necessary slip. Then a trip to his locker to drop off his backpack (-Why did he bother to bring it in the first place?), and then he had to visit all the classes he'd missed to get his teachers' signatures on the slip. After that, he had a brief window of opportunity to make contact with Mail before he had to show up for his final class of the day. Then school would be letting out and he'd have to head home again.

Still, the question remained: _How does one contact the elusive 'Matty DeadBoy'?_

Mello lingered in the hall near his locker, hoping for some sign of the entity. When the minutes ticked away with no progress made, he hurried to the lavatory, stumbling gracelessly over his own two feet upon entry and stopping in front of the sink, peering into the mirror and waiting anxiously.

"Mail?" he whispered. "Mail?" he tried a little louder. He huffed and banged his fists off the sides of the porcelain basin before trying one more time, practically spitting the name: "MAIL!"

Just then, after the third call (cliché, ne?) the redhead's reflection appeared, though it wasn't just that. The image in the mirror seemed to change altogether, colors blurring and morphing into a new setting and scenery.

For security purposes, Mello did a double take, looking behind him to assure himself he was still safely in the school bathroom before viewing the strange spectacle once more.

In the mirror-image, a younger version of the redhead sat in a small dark room. He was playing with a green stuffed puppy with yellow striped legs. The dim lighting flickered and he took on a frightened expression, clutching his toy close to his chest, hugging it. "No," he whispered, voice laced with the sort of charm that could only be honed and perfected by an innocent child. A dark silhouette appeared behind him before everything went black. The scene was punctuated with a child's cry that gradually matured, as if to signify a scream-worthy horror that lasted throughout childhood and well into pubescent years.

"Mail?!" Mello found himself yelling, hands reaching and clawing uselessly at the cold silver surface, trying to protect a boy who was beyond help. "Mail, don't show me this. Show me how I can help you," he pleaded. "You want my help, right? I get it now. Your father didn't kill you, someone else did. -That's why you're haunting this town, right? You need closure." Both hands stayed firmly planted on the mirror. Blue eyes closed, tears beginning to brim. "I don't know what happened, but whatever it was, I can't change the past. But... maybe I can help you some other way." When he opened his eyes, the mirror was back to showing its normal contents: the phantasmic visual terminated.

The deceased teen materialized and stood behind the blonde, appearing as mortal as any other student, and Mello turned to face him.

"Mail, I want to help you," he said with a compassion usually reserved for triumph in his studies.

"I know," said Mail, fingers twitching and green eyes looking around, as if searching for something. "That's why I chose you."

"Hn? Why? I don't-"

"You're not like the others, Mello," murmured Mail with a sigh. "You don't make jokes at my expense."

"Mail, I- I'm sorry. I just- How can I help?"

The redhead was quiet for a moment. He chewed his lip nervously and reached out, as if wanting to grab something -though he hesitated. "Can I just... be your friend?"

Mello startled at the idea, quickly bringing a hand to his chest where a rosary dangled. "I-I dunno. -I'm Catholic. And I don't know how well I can tolerate the weird shit. -Flickering lights. Your random appearances. All the delusions that come with the fact that you are technically haunting me. -And what was with that scream earlier?"

Mail visibly flinched at what he heard. "I- uh... You're going to be late for your last class if you don't hurry." The spirit tried to change the subject; his demeanor spelled discomfort.

But the blonde was stubborn and bullheaded. "Fuck class, Mail! You need me. Admit it! You need me, or you wouldn't have revealed yourself to me in the first place!" Mello huffed and puffed, a tsunami of emotions reigning over him. "You need me," he growled between breaths, lunging toward the spirit and paling when he made contact with a body that should have been intangible.

Mail shrieked, surprised by the contact. "Y-You're touching me." Shaky hands rose as he wrapped his arms tightly around the blonde. "I-I'm touching you," he gasped and released a bout of breathless laughter, clinging tightly to the boy on top of him and burying his face into the crook of the other teen's neck.

Mello remained motionless, too shocked to respond or even speak. When he finally found his voice, he could only ask: "What does this mean?"

The two carefully untangled themselves and separated, sitting up and avoiding eye contact. "I-I don't know," Mail responded, his body trembling and cheeks stretching to accommodate a smile. "I-I'm just- I forgot how it felt... to feel." His lips parted and a half-barking laugh escaped. He reached toward Mello and touched his shoulder, his face, and his hair, testing his fingertips against the varying textures of the blonde. Suddenly, his eyes closed, tears slipping.

"Mail?" Mello asked, taking the redhead's hand in his his own. "Are you okay?"

Mail's body continued to shake but he nodded. "I just- you don't know. You don't know how much you take for granted until it's gone." He took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling. "Breathing- I miss it. I miss it, Mello." His throat restricted as he concluded this eccentric confession.

Mello frowned, still holding Mail's twitching hand. He tried to force a smile but he was sure it looked fake. "Something's wrong, Mail."

"But-!"

"Mail, listen. You're dead. This isn't supposed to happen."

"P-Please don't say that. Y-You can _see_ me. You can _hear_ me. You can _feel_ me."

"But you're dead. You _died_."

Hearing the the blonde declare the anomaly of his existence, Mail's withdrew his hand and his face scrunched up in pain. "Prove it."

"Huh?"

"_Prove _that I'm dead."

"Mail, you need to listen. This can't be normal. I mean-"

"Can't you just leave it alone?" The redhead took on a pleading expression and reached out, derogatorily flicking the crucifix on Mello's rosary. "You believe in God. What if this is a miracle?"

"...I don't think it works like that."

"Why not?"

"Because, if it did, I'm pretty sure God would've given me my dad back by now."

…

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**/... Words... - Yes, Mail is solid at the moment. Try to keep up. I'll explain things better in the next chapter or two. I've got 90% of this fic planned, and I've already got a jump start on ch6. So, keep reading and reviewing, and hopefully something good comes from this. Thank you./**


End file.
